Monster
by Maddie Rose
Summary: "The livid hatred still burns through my veins, agonising as it singes me, screaming for me to take action. Someone needs to bleed like I have, to be hurt as I have been hurt." Gloss wants revenge against the Capitol, but when he gets it, he soon learns bitter victory is hollow, and some scars will always stay with you. DARK, character death.


**A/N: Okay, so this doesn't really tie into Forbidden Fruit at all. It has the character of Storm, but it's basically an alternate universe with a much darker, more screwed-up Gloss. Be warned, this story is rated M for a reason. It contains self-harm, mentions of rape, and suicide. Based on the song "Monster" by Meg & Dia. Please excuse randomness, I'm trying to get into the mind of a madman.**

* * *

**HiS LiTtLe wHiSpErS**

I am a shell of who I was once. The Gloss Delucan who went into the 68th Hunger Games? Well, there's a truth they never tell you: all twenty-four tributes die in the arena. You might come out of there, but you're not the same. No matter how hard you try to go back, you can never who you once were…and it kills you.

I remember Cashmere coming back from the Games, and that was when I first realised how much it changes you. She would still laugh and smile and flirt, but her eyes…her blue eyes were always dead. The emotion was forced, and inside she felt nothing. I tried to cling to the sister I'd once known, but it soon became clear that she no longer existed.

I remember my district partner, Honey. Sometimes it's the better things that come to mind. Before the Games, watching a smile cross her freckled face as she leaned in and kissed me. It wasn't love, it could never be love. We both had too much to lose and despite the fact that we were together, we were still so far apart. Only one of us was going to make it home. I accepted that fact, but it didn't stop me from being sickened when I watched Honey being rent in two.

Cashmere sits crying on the couch. I walk over and sit beside her. It's been a year since I won the Games, and I still haven't come to terms with who I am, what I've become. I slide my arm around my sister's shoulders but she jerks away. I flinch as she makes her escape from contact. Is it me? Is it because she can't stand the sight of me anymore? Cashmere just shakes her head, her slender frame wracked with sobs.

"I just…can't do it anymore."

"Do what?" I'm starting to get a bit alarmed. I watch my sister carefully as she wipes at her face, trying to control all the things she's feeling.

Then she tells me. Cashmere explains that Snow has made her sell her body in order to gain sponsors and to please high-ranking Capitolians. I nod understandingly throughout it all, but all I can feel is a fury burning deep inside me. I want to hurt someone. Something.

Instead I wait patiently until Cashmere is done, and I walk into the bathroom. I can feel the bile rising in my throat and my knees hit the cold tiles. I vomit into the toilet bowl, tears streaming down my face. This is something I can't save my sister from, and it's tearing me apart.

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**CrEaTuReS LiE HeRe**

My blue eyes burn with animosity as I watch my reflection in the mirror. The person who gazes back at me is a man now, not a boy, burdened with years of watching the Games, of watching tributes die. My face twists into a scowl of self-loathing and I curl my hand into a fist and punch the shiny surface. It shatters into thousands of fragments, but I ignore the throbbing pain in my knuckles. Blood streams down my hand in crimson rivulets. It doesn't matter. How much blood have I seen these last few days?

I use my mutilated hand to twist the tap on and wash the streaming blood from my hand. I watch dispassionately as it mixes with the water, red liquid gurgling down the drain. What does my blood matter? I've already shed the blood of others, why shouldn't it be my turn? I'm paranoid now, that all of them can see me for what I am. The Capitolians can see past my façade to the broken fragments underneath. I collect up the mirror shards because they're part of me, pieces like me.

It's like eternal torture, coming to the Capitol year after year to watch tributes die. Weren't the Games enough? Didn't the Capitol have their sport with us then? I still can't forget what they've done to my sister. The livid hatred still burns through my veins, agonising as it singes me, screaming for me to take action. Someone needs to bleed like I have, to be hurt as I have been hurt.

Our whole district cries out for vengeance, but silently. We don't want to be heard by the Capitol, because despite our outrage, we're still cowards. Everyone remembers what happened to District 13. We don't want to become like them, especially as District 1 is one of the Capitol's little favourites.

But despite that, our people are nearly as broken as me, because most families have seen at least one child go into the Games, or have a friend who has experienced that kind of pain. I pity my mum, because it might have been better for her if Cashmere and I died in the arena.

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**BrUiSeD aNd BrOkE HeR**

She lies on the bed staring up at the ceiling, and her eyes are as dead as Cashmere's. Her brown hair is a tangle and her hazel eyes are glazed with tears. She can't understand. In so many ways, she's still a child, despite what I've just done to her. All I wanted to do was take my anger out on someone, and I did. Storm was always so infuriatingly mild, playing the innocent. She was a Capitolian, too, the perfect victim – but she still didn't deserve what I did to her.

To her credit, she didn't scream. Silent tears slid down her cheeks as I tormented her, hurt her, but she never cried out, never even spoke. Guilt ties my insides together because I know that what I have done is beyond wrong. I stand and pull my pants up, glancing down at her. She remains immobile, and I wonder for a moment whether she is really dead, before she blinks and tears slide down her cheeks.

Storm doesn't understand. Of course she doesn't understand. Her wrists have violet bruises in the shape of fingers. There's a bite mark on her neck. I want to believe that it's a savage that's done this, an animal…and I'd be right. I did this. She looks at me and I want to see accusation, I want to see the word _monster_ written all over her face…because it would make it easier to accept. Instead there's only numbness, resignation to her fate.

I stumble from the room in only my pants, shaking. Why am I shaking? Why am I the one who feels sick to the stomach? I'm the rapist, not the one who was violated. I fall to my knees and let out a howl of anguish, because in my efforts to get revenge against those who have wronged me, I have only become that much more like them.

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**A gLaSs cHiLd**

The knife clatters from my hand into the sink and I'm convulsing like a drug addict who's on withdrawal. I stare down at my arms, at the bloody lesions. They look like thin red ribbons criss-crossing my skin. It's almost art in a way. Once the pain used to sting, but over time, I don't feel anything when the steel bites into me. Well, not pain. It's almost soothing, to find a way to let my agitation escape.

I destroy everything around me. After what I did to her, Storm was almost catatonic. She didn't speak. She hardly ate. Eventually they realised that she was broken, and I almost wished she would tell someone about what I had done. Instead Storm was replaced by a happy-go-lucky escort that just made my desire to slice into my skin even stronger. Pepper, that's her name. For the past few months, we've been stuck with her.

Still, nothing changes. The tributes keep dying, their blood on my conscience just like mine stains my skin. Just like the sheets I had to throw away with the blood of Storm's innocence. Cashmere's predicament with the Capitol men is a constant. I no longer want to hurt, because I know that I did more than hurt Storm. I ruined her. I only did to someone what was done to me, and I swear I see them mocking me, laughing at me. Their smug Capitolian smiles…they know what I've done. They do.

I can't stand it. There's so much hate inside me, but it's not for the Capitol anymore. After I raped Storm, it's become self-loathing. I was always angry at what I've become, but I blamed the Capitol for it. For my actions, I can blame no one but myself. I wasn't forced to hurt her. I did it because I was furious and someone needed to bleed like I did. Well, someone did. It makes me feel worse instead of better.

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**BaThTuBs FuLL oF gLoWfLiEs**

Generally, people keep painkillers for that specific reason: to kill the pain. I'm using them to kill something else entirely. I take Cashmere's stash and empty it into my hands, but there's no shaking. I'm completely calm about what has to be done, because this isn't just a rash decision. I've been contemplating it for some time and decided that it's easier this way. Dying hurts less than living.

I head into the kitchen and take out a cup, filling it with water. I pop one pill in my mouth, take in some water and then swallow. I repeat the process until I'm done with all of the pills. I expect a sudden change, to see the light…but nothing happens. I'm a little disappointed and I walk down the hall. I go over and lie on my bed, a bit curious and a bit afraid.

I avoided death in the Games and now I'm deliberately bringing it about. Will it hurt? Will it be quick? I wouldn't deserve it if it was fast. For the things I've done, the crimes I've committed, I deserve it be painful. I feel strangely sleepy, so I lean back against my pillow. I close my eyes, and my last thought before I drift under for the last time is of a girl with dead eyes…


End file.
